


By The Horns

by kay_emm_gee



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bull Riding, F/M, Horses, The Longest Ride AU, artist!Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 17:44:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3863932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Clarke is an art history student in her last semester of college who has a bright future ahead of her as an intern at one of the most up-and-coming art galleries in NYC.</p><p>In which Bellamy is a bull rider who is trying to make an almost impossible comeback as the top rider in the nation after experiencing a near-death injury last season.</p><p>In which Clarke and Bellamy think their futures are set in stone, but neither knows that fate has a little something different in mind for the both of them. </p><p>Or, in which this author writes an fic based on The Longest Ride by Nicholas Sparks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Saw the movie. Loved it. Thought of Bellarke. Loved it more and had to write an AU. 
> 
> Thus resulted this series of loosely connected one-shots that I will update as I feel inspired :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke does two things she never expected: wears cowboy boots and meets a professional bull rider. A very cute one, if she’s being honest.

Clarke was wearing cowboy boots.

Cowboy. Boots.

If only she hadn’t made Raven go to that gallery opening last month, she would be in her dorm room right now, working on her senior thesis. Not following Raven through the hollering and hooting crowd towards the riding ring, not wrinkling her nose at the stale smell of beer and dust, not wearing these damn boots.

“We’re staying for an hour, that’s it!” Clarke yelled as she struggled to keep pace with Raven. “You promised.”

“You can’t just stay  _one_  hour at a rodeo show,” Raven called back. “Plus, I made it through the entire night at that stuffy reception. You can last a few hours here.”

“I told you, this whole country thing isn’t my scene. Besides, I’m wearing the boots like you wanted. That should knock off an hour.”

“I can’t hear you!” Raven teased, scanning the crowded bleachers for seats.

Clarke sighed as she followed her friend down to the front, giving up the fight. Raven had been a good sport about going with her to the gallery opening, which had been just as unimpressive as expected. Still, her future boss had asked her to attend, so she had. Though Clarke still had three months, and graduation, standing between her and the unpaid but very prestigious art museum internship in Manhattan, she was very determined to start off on right foot. Not wanting to go alone, however, Clarke had convinced Raven come with her, even though she knew art was not the mechanical engineer’s thing.

So Clarke did owe her, probably. In any case, Raven was her ride home, so like it or not, she was stuck here, at her first ever rodeo show, and wearing cowboy boots no less. Of all the senior spring experiences she had planned on having, this was certainly not one of them.

As they settled into their place in the front row—Raven had elbowed at least four people to get them—Clarke winced at the loud voice of the announcer echoing out of the speakers surrounding the ring. He was babbling about the next event, which was apparently bull riding. Between that sound and the heat, as well as the frenetic energy of the crowd, Clarke felt overwhelmed. The feeling only increased when the show started, as she watched the bull buck, its rider flailing around on its back, dirt and the animal’s snot flying every which way, and entirely too close to her.

Being in the front row was a very bad idea.

When the rider finally went flying off, slamming into the ground, Clarke couldn’t help but let out a loud shriek. Raven just laughed, punching her lightly on the arm.

“Too much for you?” She asked archly.

Clarke scowled at her for a second. “Do we have to be so close?”

“It’s not fun otherwise!”

The roar of the crowd prevented Clarke from responding, and she turned, half-horrified and half-intrigued, to watch the next round. This guy stayed on longer. When he made it past the time goal, she found herself standing and cheering with the rest of the crowd. When Raven let out a loud whistle, Clarke laughed, feeling her previous apprehension slip away.

Excitedly, she turned to watch the next rider mount up. Leaning forward, she noticed the crowd had grown oddly subdued as he prepped to ride. Turning, she whispered in Raven’s ear.

“What’s going on?”

“That’s Bellamy Blake,” Raven replied quietly, keeping her eyes on the man in question. “He was one of the top riders last year, but an injury kept him from progressing to nationals. This is his first competition since then.”

Biting her lip, Clarke considered the rider. He was tall, appeared solidly built, though the chaps and padded vest made it kind of hard to tell. She couldn’t see his face, hidden as it was under the shadow of a cowboy hat, but a few dark brown curls peeked out at the nape of his neck. She didn’t need to see his face to tell how nervous he was, though. The tense line of his shoulders and his jittery movements relayed that clearly enough.

Somehow, the silence intensified as Blake was lowered into the enclosure, settling onto the bull’s back. Clarke’s heart leapt when the bull began bucking, jostling its rider. Blake managed to pull himself together, though, quickly giving a nod to the gate operator.

With a clang, the gate opened, and they were off. The bull shook and kicked and twisted around, a violent blur that radiated anger and determination. Blake seemed more determined, though, because he hung on, letting his body contort to match the bull’s movements. It was a dance of sorts, something dangerous and entrancing, and Clarke pressed her fingers to her mouth in anxious anticipation.

A handful of seconds, that was all it lasted, but the moment seemed stretched, distorted, like fitting a piece of canvas to a too-big frame. Clarke didn’t even realize it was over until the roar of the crowd startled her from her seat.

He had done it.

Clarke cupped her hands to her mouth, screaming along with everybody else, stomping her feet in celebration. The noise startled the bull, however; it turned suddenly, escaping the handlers and heading straight for Blake, who was dusting himself off with a pleased grin. Almost immediately, though, he realized the danger and made a run for it, heading straight for the crowd. Jumping, he scrambled up the fence right in front of her and Raven. The movement jostled the hat from his head, revealing his dirty but still boldly handsome face. Sweat dripped from his forehead, which was crinkled in concern as he watched the bull, but the handlers managed to divert it at the last minute.

Huffing out a laugh, Blake touched his head to the fence rail before hopping down. He shot a smile and wave at the crowd as he turned around to go back to the riders’ area. Clarke’s gaze darted down to the hat that he left behind. Suddenly, she was lunging forward, grabbing the hat and leaning through the fence, her arm extended.

“Hey!” She shouted, her voice hoarse from dusty air, and maybe a little something else. “You forgot this.”

Blake paused, twisting his head just a little bit back to look at her. The corner of his mouth turned up, and Clarke felt her stomach twist because  _what was she doing_.

When he turned all the way around, though, his grin was subtle and, most surprisingly, sincere.

“Keep it,” he said softly, nodding to her as he jogged backwards towards the sideline.

Clarke stood there in a haze for a quick second before pulling herself together, letting a slow smile slide onto her face. After settling the hat on her head with one hand, she tipped it to him, her cheeks warming when she saw him laugh in response.

“So, you liking the show?” Raven inquired dryly when Clarke returned to her seat.

“Shut up,” she replied, glancing at Raven and then up at the brim of the hat.

_First the boots, now a cowboy hat. What was her world coming to._

Somehow, though, Clarke couldn’t quite bring herself to be as displeased about the development as she felt she should be. It really was a nice hat, after all. And its former owner, well—he seemed pretty nice too.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy may have lost his favorite cowboy hat, but the smile and phone number he gets in return is worth the trade off.

Scanning the packed, noisy bar one more time, Bellamy frowned as he noticed no empty stools, no vacant chairs. He shifted his weight to his other leg, barely suppressing a groan as his muscles screamed in protest. Though he counted his earlier ride as a successful comeback, he was much more sore than he would like to admit. He really should sit down. And if he was being honest, it wasn’t just the physical strain that had him exhausted. Months of practice hadn’t prepared for the real thing: listening the crowd go silent at his name, trembling as he was lowered onto the saddle, feeling sick to his stomach as he forced himself to give the go-ahead for the release.

So why he was here, at this crowded bar, with its energetic music and drunken patrons, instead of on the way home to his bed was beyond him.

A familiar high-pitched giggle snapped his attention back to the group in front of him, and Bellamy couldn’t help but grin tiredly at his sister. Octavia stuck her tongue out at him in response, laughing when he scowled before turning back to her friends, Jasper and Monty. She had practically dragged him here, insisting on celebrating his return to the circuit. Given her previous resistance to him going back to riding, Bellamy had been surprised at her enthusiasm and so couldn’t find it in his heart to turn her down.

As the crowd shrieked in approval around him at the start of the latest country pop hit, he winced, wishing he wasn’t quite so wrapped around his sister’s finger. He didn’t need a headache on top of his other pains at the moment. Downing the last of his beer, he slid the bottle onto the nearby counter and nodded to Octavia, indicating that he was going out for some air. She cocked her head, eyebrows furrowing in concern.  _I’m fine_ , he mouthed at her, smiling, and raised a hand to tell her to stay.

She shot him a soft grin before she swept around to the bar, leaning over to order more drinks. Turning, Bellamy began elbowing his way through the dancing crowd. He felt his irritation rise each time a stray elbow or knee knocked into him, sending pulses of pain through his sensitive muscles. As he burst through the front door, he sucked in a deep breath, relishing in the fresh scent of the spring night. There were a few groups lingering outside, some smoking, some out for air like him. It was quieter out here, the joyful music from inside just a mix of muted guitar twangs and muffled lyrics.

Scuffing his shoes against the dirt walk, Bellamy ambled out from the doorway, breathing in the clear air. A few yards down, he walked up to the railing meant to be a charming nod to the olden-time horse posts and leaned on it. At the feel of his muscles pulling with the movement, he grunted. Stepping back, he stretched the back of his calves, hunching over the railing. It felt damn good, so he held it, even as the twinging began to border on painful.

Just as Bellamy felt his legs start to shake in protest at the strain, he noticed a figure out of the corner of his eye. Octavia, probably, coming to check up on him. When he lifted his head and glared at the girl, however, he took in her blonde hair and curious stare and realized it was definitely not his sister.

“Hi,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back. She smiled, a bit nervously, so Bellamy dropped the glare, straightening as she approached. Her steps were confident even if her demeanor was not, a contradiction that had Bellamy intrigued. Glancing up at her face again, he saw blue eyes shadowed by a large cowboy hat, and then it clicked.

It was the girl from the bleachers.

He couldn’t help the smile that broke over his face then, remembering the way she had called after him, a little bit demanding and a little bit exasperated, as if she was scolding him for leaving his hat behind. It was ballsy for her to do that in front of the crowd, and strangely endearing.

“Hey,” he said, biting his lip when he realized his voice wasn’t as steady as he would’ve liked.

She smiled softly, tipping her head back just a bit to look at him. The movement had the fluorescent lights outside the bar catching on her twisted curls, coloring them a white-gold. It was a stark but nice contrast to the black felt of the cowboy hat.

When his gaze flicked back up to the hat again, she flushed, pulling it quickly from her head.

“You probably want this back,” she said, offering it to him again.

Bellamy chuckled and shook his head. “I told you: keep it.”

With a raised eyebrow, she gave him a skeptical look before she slowly placed it back on her head, wiggling it into place. It was so low that it blocked her line of vision, however, and she laughed. Letting out a soft snort of amusement, Bellamy stepped forward, ducking his head so he could catch her eye again.

“May I?” He asked, gesturing to her hat.

She nodded, and he moved closer, so much so that he felt her warmth sweep towards him. Swallowing, he reached up and caught the edges of the hat between his fingers, angling it back so it now rested on the crown of her head. He let his hands fall afterwards, flexing him even as they itched to tug teasingly on one of her strands of hair.

“Better,” he announced, returning the grin she was now giving him.

“I’m Clarke,” she said in a rasping tone. “In case you were wondering.”

“I’m—”

“Bellamy Blake.”

He nodded once, closing his eyes fleetingly in amusement. Of course she knew who he was; she had watched him ride.

When he opened his eyes, he saw she hadn’t moved away, but she hadn’t said anything else either. Not liking the nervousness settling in his chest, Bellamy decided he would just grab the bull by the horns, or so the saying went.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asked, hoping that as bold as she had been today, she would appreciate his bluntness and not be scared off or offended by it.

She ducked her head quickly, then looked up at him, a bit flushed and a pleased shine in her eyes. “I feel like I should buy you a drink, after what you accomplished today.”

“Not how things work around here,” Bellamy teased, trying to distract her from that line of thought, because the last thing he wanted to think about right now was how much weight today had held in regards to his rehabilitation, and how it also unfortunately showed him that he still had a long way to go to get back to the top.  

She gave him a flicker of a knowing look, the clarity in it making his stomach twist. Then, she flashed him a bright grin, and suddenly his stomach was twisting for an entirely different reason.

“Fine,” she said lightly, beginning to walk backwards towards the bar. “But next time is on me.”

Laughing, he followed, his eyes not leaving hers. “I’ll need your number, you know, if you’re already thinking about a next time.”  

She held out her hand, and he gave her his phone. As she typed in her number, she bit her bottom lip in concentration, and Bellamy felt heat rush through him at the sight. Stepping forward, he felt her startle as she looked up to give him the phone back, suppressing a smile at the pink blush rolling up her face. Her lips twisted into a bemused grin as she turned and started walking towards the bar. A few seconds later, though, she stopped in her tracks, staring intently at a brunette that was stumbling out the door.

“Raven?” She called out, worry in her voice.

“Clarke!” The girl yelled happily, running for her friend. Bellamy heard Clarke huff as the girl—Raven, apparently—slammed into her, wrapping her in a tight hug. “There you are – I missed you!”

“Missed you too, Rae,” Clarke said in a strangled but amused voice. “Can you let go know?”

“Mm, I might fall, but sure,” Raven said, swaying on her feet as she pulled away. Finally Bellamy saw her eyes focus on him, and her face perked up mischievously.

“Who’s your hot friend?” She asked bluntly, gesturing vaguely in his direction.

When Clarke breathed an embarrassed  _oh my god,_  Bellamy laughed, stepping forward and holding a hand out to Raven.

“Bellamy Blake,” he said, grinning as the girl’s face went slack, then flinched in shock.

“Holy shit, girl,” she called out, squeezing Clarke’s arm. “And to think, you didn’t even want to come today. Apparently,  _country_  isn’t her thing,” Raven drawled, sending Bellamy an overly incredulous look.

Dropping his head, Bellamy glanced up at a Clarke, who was now a very bright red. Sending him an apologetic look, she turned to her friend. “Alright, Rae, let’s saw we get you home, yeah? Seems like we should call it a night.”

“But—Blake. You need to get a drink with Blake,” Raven mumbled, catching Clarke’s face between her hands and squeezing affectionately.

“I’ve got her number,” he added helpfully, ignoring Clarke’s admonishing look.

“Oh my  _god_ ,” Raven exclaimed, pinching Clarke’s cheek, and then surprisingly dodging a half-hearted slap to her arm from her friend. “She _never_  gives her number out. You must be very—oh, shit.”

Raven hunched over, bracing herself on her knees.

“I’m gonna be sick,” she muttered. “Damn tequila shots. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that bartender. Blondes are always trouble.”

“That’s why we’re friends, isn’t it?” Clarke responded, rubbing her friend’s back.

“You need help?” Bellamy offered.

Clarke smiled at him thankfully, but shook her head. “Nah, we’re good.”

About to protest, Bellamy caught a glimpse of his sister in the distance, looking around the crowd outside. Given that he was her ride home, he figured she had had enough for the night and was ready to go. When he looked back at Clarke, she was already helping Raven across the parking lot. He managed to catch her looking back however, and smiled at her.

Somehow she managed to free a hand, tipping the hat at him, just like she had the first time. Chuckling, he waved farewell, watching her stumble away into the dark.  

“Hey, dumbass!”

Sighing, Bellamy turned to his sister, who was marching towards him.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was so late? I would’ve gone home ages ago. You must be exhausted.”

“I’m fine, O,” he said.

Octavia gave him a skeptical look, her gaze focusing on the smile that was still lingering on his lips. “You okay?” She asked curiously.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, flicking her nose teasingly. “Let’s go home.”

As Bellamy lay in bed that night, he couldn’t stop picturing Clarke wearing that hat. He recalled the way her hair shone in the shadowed light, and an odd fondness simmered in his chest at the image of his hat perched on her head.

Well, her hat now. He smiled, and picked up his phone, staring at her number in satisfaction one more time before he flicked off the light and dropped into a calm sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy and Clarke take a ride...or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rises from the grave* oh yes this story i wrote this story i should finish this story

Clarke spluttered up to the surface of the lake, disbelief surging through her. Only their third date, and Bellamy had _thrown_ her in the _water_.

“You threw me in the water?” She accused, yelling at the grinning man standing on the dock.

“You were dirty,” he teased. It made her feel a little bit better he was toeing off his boots, no doubt about to join her. “You said you wanted to wash up before dinner.”

“In a shower!”

He just laughed as he shucked off his pants, pulled his shirt over his head with one hand, and jumped in the water, boxers only. When he launched himself off the dock, muscles bunching as he twisted into a dive, Clarke shivered. The water was chilly, but seeing more of Bellamy had heat pooling in her belly. It had been hard enough not to jump him earlier, when he had been teaching her how to ride--horses, that was. His hands had been everywhere: on her waist as he lifted her up into the saddle, on her ankles as he forced her heels down in the stirrup, squeezing her knee as he turned them in. The bastard had smirked at her the entire time, correctly reading the blush on her neck as his doing.

So the minute he surfaced, Clarke was there, laughing as she pressed down on his shoulders to dunk him in revenge. She shrieked when strong arms banded around her legs and pulled her under too. When they both came up again, she immediately splashed Bellamy in the face, but his fingers found her sides and tickled her through her thin, sopping wet tank top.

“Oh my god, stop, _stop_!” She laughed, and he listened. As his hands slid around to her lower back, he leaned down and kissed her. Their lips slid too much at first, wet as they were, but eventually Clarke started to taste him underneath the lingering flavor of lake and barn dust.

They kept trading kisses as they waded out of the lake and stumbled through the fields up to the family farmhouse, where he lived with his sister. Bellamy stole one last one from her on the threshold of his bathroom before she grinned and shut the door in his face.

“I’ll leave some dry clothes for you on the bed,” he called out.

 _Maybe I don’t need them_ , she vaguely thought about calling out. Even though she kept her thoughts to herself, she watched in the mirror as daring red blotches bloomed across her chest. Quickly, so she wouldn’t call him back, Clarke hopped into the shower. The hot streams of water felt good on her sore muscles. She didn’t know how Bellamy did what he did. Being on a horse for an hour today had been enough to have her walking almost bow-legged; she couldn’t imagine how he climbed up onto a bull, especially knowing he was likely to get thrown.

Steam clouded the bathroom by the time she slipped back into his bedroom. Her wet hair clung to her shoulders, and water dripped down her warmed skin. Shivering, she quickly dropped her towel and reached for the sweatpants folded on the bed. She had just slipped them on when she heard a creak from the doorway behind her.

“Dinner’s almost…”

Over her shoulder, she saw Bellamy, one hand pushing the door open, backlit by the hallway light with parted lips.

“Sorry,” he rasped, slamming his eyes shut as her arms crossed over her bare chest. “I’m really sorry. I should’ve knocked.”

She let out a nervous laugh, quickly reaching for the sweatshirt. When she tugged it over her head, she saw that he was bright red and nervously tapping his fingers against his thigh. It was cute, really.

“C’mon,” she whispered teasingly as she padded over to him. Then she pressed a quick, dry kiss to his cheek before brushing by into the hallway. “I’m hungry.”

She laughed again, more fully this time, when she caught the groan he let out under his breath before he quickly followed her down the stairs.

So she may not be a professional bull wrangler--but she seemed to be wrangling Bellamy just fine.

  

* * *

 

 

They didn’t even make it halfway through dinner. He got up to get some water, she caught his hand as he walked by, and then she was hopping up into his arms. They slammed into the fridge, but she didn’t even care that magnets were pressing dully into her back, because Bellamy was pressing into her front in all the right places.

“It was really good, I swear,” Clarke mumbled against his insistent, claiming lips. “Dinner was really--oh, shit.”

Her words cut off into a moan as Bellamy worked his mouth down her neck. He grunted in frustration when the fabric of the sweatshirt’s hood got in the way.

“Off,” she breathed, yelping when he dropped her down suddenly.

Both of their hands went to the hem of her sweatshirt. By the time it was off, tangling her already swim-mussed curls even more, they were heading towards the stairs. Bellamy scooped her up with a smug grin before carrying her up to his bedroom.

“What about Octavia?” Clarke asked as she was dropped on the bed.

Bellamy pulled his shirt off before answering, “Staying at her boyfriend’s for the weekend.”

Clarke cocked a knowing eyebrow at him, and he had the decency to look sheepish.

“I wasn’t counting on anything,” he said.

She just laughed, shaking her head as the corners of his mouth crooked upwards. “I believe you.”

“You do.”

Clarke reached her hands up to slide them around his neck, drawing him down her her. “I certainly do,” she whispered before closing them distance between them for another heady kiss, and more.

  

* * *

 

After, she didn’t remember drifting off to sleep, but she woke in Bellamy’s arms sometime in the early hours of the morning, that time of night when time seems frozen, forever suspended in shadow and silence.

Clarke just clutched him tighter, nestling into his side. She wanted it to stay dark, stay quiet, stay still. She didn’t want the semester to end, and graduation to come. The internship at the gallery was still just as important to her, but New York City was so far away from here, from Bellamy.

So she closed her eyes and listened to him breathe, pretending there weren’t dreams and livelihoods separating them, matching her own breaths to his heartbeat so that she could keep him close, even here, even now, when she was lying right next to him.


	4. Chapter 4

Bellamy grunted as he heaved his duffle out of the backseat of his truck. Crickets chirped in the dark as he walked slowly up to the house, his muscles aching with even that effort. He was still tired from traveling this weekend for the competition, and sore from the fall he had taken at practice today. It hadn’t been a bad one, but enough to rattle his bones around a bit. Miller had scowled at him afterwards.

 _Save the fancy moves for the real deal, idiot_ , his friend had grumbled as he helped him up off the dirt ring floor.

He had just grinned, walked it off, and then climbed right back in the saddle.

So what if he was sore, tired, aching. He had moved up a significant amount in the rankings in the past few weeks. Now he had an actual shot at the title this year, so it was all worth it.

He was barely in the door before Octavia sauntered out of the kitchen.

“Oh right, you live here.”

With an eye roll--so maybe he had been traveling a lot recently--he toed off his boots. “Sorry I have matches to win.”

“And a girlfriend to spend the night with. Though why you two opt for a twin bed is beyond me.”

Bellamy made a face, because his sister wasn’t wrong. Clarke was busy, though, and couldn’t always make the drive out to their farm, as far from campus as it was. She had classes and study groups and studio work that she needed to be on campus for. It made sense for him to go to her, though it didn’t do his back any favors, but--he would suck it up, for her.

“Clarke’s busy. It’s easier that way.”

Octavia clucked her tongue, but then she narrowed her eyes as he winced upon setting his bag down.

“You’re hurt.”

He avoided her disapproving stare. “I’m fine, O.”

“You get thrown today?”

“No.”

“ _Bell._ ”

“I’m fine. I got right back up.”

“You always do,” she sniped back, turning back into the kitchen with hunched shoulders. “Except, you know, that one time when you almost _died_ \--”

“I’m not having this argument again,” Bellamy snapped. “I’ve always done what is best for us, you need to trust--”

“I have a job. I help with the mortgage. This is _our_ house, _our_ farm. You’re not on your own anymore, so stop acting like a martyr or using me as an excuse. You ride because you love it, and your pride was wounded last season and you think you need the title to win it back, end of story, even if that ending is you in a hospital bed, or worse, a fucking coffin!”

Bellamy watched his sister’s eyes begin to glisten with angry tears, and he folded his arms over his chest, both furious and guilty. “It was one fall, O.”

She just glared at him before brushing by with a cold shoulder towards the stairs. “Do what you want. You always do.”

His fists clenched as he heard her bedroom door slam a minute later.

 

* * *

 

Silence pervaded the house the next morning as they both sipped their coffee in the kitchen, stone-faced and tense.

“I’m going to Clarke’s for a few days,” he said when he shrugged his coat on by the door.

She barely glanced up from her bowl of cereal. “See you.”

Bellamy scowled as he left, and he was the one to the slam the door in response to her surliness this time.

 

* * *

 

“You sure you’re up to going tonight?”

Bellamy glanced up from his phone to a half-dressed Clarke who was fastening an earring. His eyes lingered on her form for a second, and he suddenly wished they were staying in tonight.

“Bellamy?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah it’s fine.”

“I know it’s not your type of thing,” she commented with a fond smile in the mirror. “But I appreciate it.”

Bellamy hummed at her in acknowledgement. True, art showings weren’t his thing, but the comment annoyed him anyways. Glancing down at his phone screen again, he frowned. He hadn’t heard from Octavia in two weeks. Not that he had tried calling her either, but she always called before a competition, even when she had been pissed at him. This weekend had came and gone, though, without her contacting him.

He straightened up and sighed--Clarke was taking forever tonight--but the sigh turned into a groan as a muscle in his back tweaked painfully. Frustration surged through him. He had been off his game this weekend, not moving up in status as much as he had hoped.

Despite the wait, they made it to the gallery on time, though Clarke was already fretting about not being there early.

“There will still be plenty of time to see the paintings,” Bellamy commented as he escorted her into the building. “It’s not like there’s going to be a throng getting in our way.”

He chuckled, but she didn’t join in.

“No, but there won’t be drunken idiots throwing popcorn or peanuts either,” she replied coldly.

“Hey.” He grabbed her arm, flexing a tight, apologetic smile at her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m just--tonight is important, okay? My future boss is here tonight, and I need to make a good impression.”

“You already have the job, Clarke.” Bellamy ignored the pang he felt at the mention of her future, the one that was hundreds of miles away from him.

“And I want to make sure I keep it.”

He pulled her tense form in, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. She relaxed immediately and melted against him. “You will.”

 

* * *

 

Hours later--Bellamy had lost count--he stood in the corner of the murmur-filled, perfume-scented gallery sipping on another glass of ridiculously expensive champagne.

He had lost count of those too.

There was only such much pretentiousness he could take, after all. Discussing art of real things--like history, or ordinary life--was something he could barely stomach on his best days. Tonight though, surrounded by randomly colored canvases, he was using whatever he could to get him through the night.

At least he had managed to keep his thoughts to himself. Or mostly, at least. After one conversation gone south, Bellamy had sequestered himself in the corner. No sense in causing trouble for Clarke. He would just stand here, at this little hightop, and drink, even if the fizzy alcohol left a saccharine film on his tongue.

The guests slowly dwindled, until only a few people were left, one of them Clarke, who was walking over to him with purpose. Her heels clicked loudly on the wood floor, a sound as sharp as her smile.

“Ready?” She asked tightly.

Bellamy furrowed his brow as he followed her to the door, a sinking feeling in his stomach. They walked to the car in tense silence, and he had barely started his truck before she spoke.

“I told you that you didn’t have to come tonight,” she remarked in an irked tone.

“I said I wanted to.”

“So you stood in a corner and drank the bar dry because you wanted to come. Of course.”

“I was staying out of the way,” he muttered, shifting one hand to the top of the wheel.

Clarke snorted. “Cause that’s why I asked you to come. To stay out of the way. Not that I maybe needed your support or anything.”

“You fit in just fine.”

She jerked her head towards him, narrowing her eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“What is the matter with you?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re acting like an ass. You have been all night.”

The hurt in her voice made his chest ache, but his head throbbed from the alcohol and from the sugar, from Octavia’s silence and from the thought of Clarke in the city, smiling and schmoozing in a skin-tight dress and dark-lined eyes as she had been tonight without him by her side. “What else was I supposed to do? Smile and nod and gaze at the fingerpaint on the walls?”

He sucked in a breath, wishing he could take back the words as soon as he said them. Immediately, he looked over, mouth opening to apologize. Except Clarke wasn’t looking at him; her head was turned away, staring resolutely at the dark shadows of the roadside blurring by them. Bellamy cleared his throat, but her shoulders just rose up tensely, and so he turned his gaze back to the road.

His hand flexed over the wheel, and Bellamy cursed inwardly, wondering how he had managed to piss off yet another person he cared about.

Clarke didn’t speak again until they pulled into the parking lot of her dorm.

“I have a phone call with Anya early tomorrow morning, and then I’ll be studying all day, probably tomorrow too,” she said with her hand on the door pull. She still wouldn’t look at him. “You’ll be bored. Maybe you should just go home for the weekend.”

“Clarke, I’m sorry,” he sighed. “Really, really sorry. It’s a poor excuse, but it’s just been hard. I’ve been traveling too much and Octavia is being difficult and I just--I shouldn’t have gone tonight. But I wanted to be there with you. I really did. And I should’ve tried harder. It was your night, and you deserved it. So I’m sorry.”

With just the slightest turn of her head toward him, Bellamy felt like he could breathe again.

“Come inside,” she finally said, stepping out of the car.

He tipped his head back and blew out a breath, closing his eyes for a quick second. Then he got out of the car to find Clarke waiting for him. She flashed him another tight smile, but it was weak this time, soft, a little sad. In response, he threw an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

“We’re watching _Grey’s_ when we get upstairs,” she muttered against his chest.

He couldn’t help but smile and let out a mockingly loud groan, as was no doubt expected. The knot in his chest eased when the corners of Clarke’s mouth tugged up in amusement.

“Whatever you want, princess,” he reassured her, dropping another kiss on the top of her head. “I can deal.”

She laughed, and it sounded a little bit like forgiveness.


	5. Chapter 5

From her bed, Clarke glanced warily at her phone, which was flashing with an incoming call. She didn’t dare look to see who it was. She didn’t probably need to either.

It could be Raven, trying to drag her out to coffee to get her out of her midterm exams funk.

It could be her mother, who was calling to ask her yet again if she really could afford to move to the city so soon after graduation.

It could be Anya, checking in about some prep work for the summer.

It could be Bellamy, letting her know how he had done in his match today.

Whoever it was, though, she didn’t feel particularly inclined to talk to any of them, the last two especially. Despite Bellamy having been a slight distraction at the gallery party a few weeks ago, Anya had been impressed with her regardless. The more responsibility she gave her, though, the more Clarke started feeling wrong about moving. She felt pulled, especially whenever she heard Bellamy’s low, tired rasp over the phone. It was a preview of what their future would be: voices through a speaker, video chats, the occasional in-person visit. The thought of it made her ache, because no one, not even them, could keep that up indefinitely.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, that feeling of being pulled. She knew her other two possible callers would have strong opinions of what she was considering giving up, knew they wouldn’t think she was gaining more in return. _You’re not that girl_ , they’d say. _You’re not that girl who gives up a job for a guy._ So Clarke let the phone ring, untouched, until it stopped.

She had only just looked down at her book when it rang again. Brow furrowed, she arched her neck over to see the number. It wasn’t one of her contacts. She picked up her phone, hesitating. The call ended before she could pick up. Soon, though, the same unfamiliar number flashed brightly again, and she hit the green button.

“Hello?” 

“Clarke?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“It’s Octavia, um, Bellamy’s sister.” She paused, her voice breaking, and a sick feeling grew in Clarke’s stomach. “He--I thought I should call you. He’s in the hospital.”

Books thudded to the floor as Clarke scrambled from her bed. “How? Is he okay? How bad is he hurt? Which hospital?”

“Mt. Weather Memorial, and he’s getting scans now. We should know by the time you get here. He’s awake, but he was thrown pretty badly and was out during the ride here. So--he’s getting scans.”

Clarke fought tears as she frantically gathered keys and a jacket and her shoes. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Be safe,” Octavia murmured, and then hung up.

As Clarke ran down to her car, she wasn’t quite sure if she was going to kiss Bellamy when she saw him, or kill him.

 

* * *

 

The nurse didn’t want to let her through-- _family only, dear_ \--but Clarke had practically grown up in a hospital and so she eventually wheedled her way into the Blake room. As she strode down the hall, she could hear them arguing.

“You think I enjoy watching my brother almost get gored again? That you didn’t take another few years off my life today? Besides, you heard what Miller said, and the doctor--”

Bellamy scoffed. “The doctors have been telling me the same thing for years.”

“Stop this,” Octavia hissed with vehemence. “I will not watch you ki--”

Feeling uneasy, Clarke rounded the corner into the room. For a beat, the siblings continued staring at each other before schooling their features into something neutral and looking at her.

“Hey,” she said softly. Worry rose in her as she drew closer, registering the large bruise blossoming on Bellamy’s cheek and the careful way he held himself up.

“Hey.” He tried for a smile, but it turned into a wince.

Clarke rushed forward, clutching his hand. “Don’t. How bad is it?”

“I’m fine--”

“The doctor said if he rides again, he’s going to get himself killed.”

Clarke snapped her head towards Octavia, who was glaring stubbornly at her brother.

“What?” She breathed, and Bellamy exhaled angrily.

“That’s not what he said, O.”

“It sure as hell is!”

“Hey!” Clarke clamped her hand down on his wrist. “Is that what he said?”

Bellamy turned his defiant gaze from his sister to her, his mouth pulling down mulishly. “I’m not giving up, not when I’m this close.”

“Bellamy,” she pleaded.

He collapsed back onto the bed with closed eyes and a heavy sigh. “Can we not do this right now? I’m supposed to be resting.”

Clarke and Octavia exchanged a dubious glance before relenting. They retreated to the chairs by the side of his bed, both watching him. His chest rose and fell more and more slowly, until he drifted off into sleep. Octavia stayed sitting for a little while longer before rising with a sigh.

“I need to go get his insurance information for the hospital. The idiot didn’t have it on him. Will you--”

“Yeah,” Clarke said, straightening. “Yeah, I’ll stay.”

With a tired smile, Octavia left. Clarke tried to go back to watching Bellamy sleep, but a restlessness inside her wouldn’t let her. It grew into a nagging feeling, and her itching fingers finally pulled out her phone.

Maybe she hadn’t searched for the video of his first accident before because she didn’t want to know; maybe because if she had seen it, if she had known, she wouldn’t have thought falling for him, for someone who could die, would be worth the risk. As she watched the video of Bellamy tossed in the air like a rag doll, horror and fear filling her as he lay motionless on the ground afterwards, she felt her certainty slip. She loved him--of course she could admit it now--but he had almost died then, and today too.

Blue eyes, a steely laugh, and her father’s cologne flashed across her memory. She had loved him too, but his job had taken his life just the same. She glanced up at Bellamy, who was still sleeping. Still breathing.

And Clarke intended to make sure he stayed that way.

 

* * *

 

Between visits from friends, Bellamy used the sleep ploy for the next few days, keeping both her and Octavia at bay. As bad as he looked and as poorly as he hid his pain, neither of them felt inclined to push the matter of his career choices. He was going to have to go home at some point though, and they wouldn’t be put off then.

Clarke ended up driving him home from the hospital, and she knew she was supposed to wait until they were there, until she had Octavia--and a reluctant Lincoln--for backup. The way Bellamy chattered on, so nonchalantly, so flippantly, set her off though, just a few minutes from the Blake house.

“I saw the videos,” she announced, interrupting him. “The old ones, and this weekend’s.”

“Rain’s coming later this week,” he said, a bit more loudly. “I should make sure Octavia gets someone to help her with the hay delivery. Can’t let it--”

“Damn it, Bellamy!” Her shout shut him up. “You know what I want. What your sister wants. Are you going to keep avoiding it?”

“I’m going to keep doing the only thing that will earn me a living, hell yes.”

“Bull riding,” she scoffed. “Sure. That’s all you’re good for.”

“That’s all I’m good at.”

“Bullshit.”

“Nah, I avoid bull shit pretty well nowadays.”

Clarke turned the ignition off violently, twisting in her seat to glare at Bellamy. “You’re seriously doing this right now.”

“Not all of us have a trust fund to fall back on! Some of us can’t afford to change careers at the drop of a hat.”

“I would change my career if--”

Bellamy laughed, a mean sort of sound. “You would change your career if I asked you too. Give up your fancy internship in New York. Right. Of course.”

She flinched at his words, and he looked away, not giving an inch.

“Get out,” she demanded. He tensed, and she shouted, “Get out of the car!”

“Clarke--”

“I won’t stay around and watch you die because you’re too proud to do otherwise! So get. Out.”

Bellamy threw the car door open and made it a few steps before Octavia came running out the door. She threw Clarke a confused glance when she saw her brother and his no doubt furious expression, but all she could do was duck her head to hide her tears. As soon as Bellamy made it to the porch, she turned the car on and put it in gear.

She couldn’t bring herself to look in the rearview as she drove away because she didn’t want to know what he and his house would look like for the last time.


	6. Chapter 6

“Five minutes!” Miller hollered from the pens.

Bellamy pushed off the metal gate he was leaning against. Five minutes, and he’d have his shot at the title. Five minutes, and he could have anything he ever wanted.

Except he now only had five minutes to push away the fear of failure and the worry of injury. Five minutes to forget that his sister was in the building but refusing to watch his match. Five minutes to put the thought of Clarke, whom he hadn’t heard from in weeks, from his mind.

Four minutes, and he was hoisting himself up on the platform beside Miller.

Three, pulling on his gloves after adjusting his chaps and hat.

Two, he let them lower him down onto the snorting, stamping bull.

One minute. He tightened his grip on the saddle handle, breathed, _breathed_ , then nodded.

The gate clanging, the bell ringing, the bull bucking, the cameras flashing. The blur of the faces and the clock, all eyes on him as the milliseconds passed. Bellamy could hear the blood rushing in his ears, could feel the bunching muscles of the animal underneath him.

Then he was flying, landing, rolling up to stand tall as he turned breathlessly to the clock. After blinking the stars from his eyes, he saw it: his time.

_Eight point oh oh._

A decade of training, a year of recovery, months of sweat and heartbreak, and it all came down to eight fucking seconds.

And he had done it. He had beat the bull, beat the clock. It felt _good_.

Miller nearly knocked him over when he hopped halfway onto his back, hollering and hooting. He could hear the drawl of the announcers in the background as they proclaimed his victory. Unable to do more, he stood in the middle of the arena and stared up, winded and overheated and dumbfounded.

He didn’t even realize he had been ushered out of the ring until his arms were full of his sister.

“You arrogant idiot,” she cried into the crook of his neck.

He chuckled into her hair. “Don’t be mad I was right.”

Octavia repeated her words, but with a growl this time. When he let her go, he laughed again, but it fell flat when he realized he had expected someone else--a blonde someone else--to launch into his arms next. Instead, there was Lincoln, who shook his hand, and Miller, who clapped his shoulder and rambled on about sponsorships and national tours.

It felt good, but it didn’t feel more than that. And he had, felt more, when he was with Clarke.

She was miles away though, amid bright lights and busy streets, and he was here, realizing as satisfying as victory was, that maybe Clarke had been right too.

This wasn’t enough for him, not anymore.

* * *

That feeling only grew stronger over the next month as Bellamy threw himself into figuring out what to do next. Miller was helping him look into the background of his family farmhouse, and whether it could be coded as an official historical site and a place to commemorate the trade he had grown up immersed in.

He was downtown, heading for the town hall, when he saw the painting. It was mostly green with a small strip of blue at the top, a mix of sponged and wavy strokes. Tiny splotches of red and yellow were barely visible but bright none the less. There was something about the shape of the lines that seemed familiar, and then it dawned on him: it was the meadow behind his house.

Immediately he glanced down at the placard but he didn’t really need to know who had painted the scene. What did surprise him though was the short bio underneath, listing her as a local artist.

Local. As in here, not in New York. Here, close to him. His fingers brushed the storefront glass, the cool hardness startling him a bit.

A minute later, he was walking in the store, the bell on the door tinkling softly above him.

* * *

Afternoon sunlight fell softly across the gallery, slanting through the walls of windows onto the honey-brown wood floor. Bellamy sucked in a deep breath; it smelled like pine and paint.

Clarke’s painting hadn’t been hanging in his house long before he found out from the chatty store owner that she also worked at the little art gallery fifteen minutes outside of town. Finally having worked up the courage to drive over, he could only hope she was working today.

The light caught on a flash of blonde, and his pulse jumped. She was talking with a client, and it was only when they turned around that she caught sight of him, staring. Her eyes went wide but her steps didn’t falter. Still, as she finished up her conversation, handing over a business card, Bellamy noticed that her gaze kept flicking to him warily.

Her heels clicked loudly on the floor as she walked the client out, and then over to him. As she approached, he stuck his hands in his pockets, nervous.

“You’re alive,” she commented dryly. “Good to know.”

Reflexively, he rolled his eyes but bit back the retort on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he said, “You’re working here.”

Her cheeks pinked the slightest bit. “Yes. The job in New York, I didn’t--it didn’t work out.”

Guilt stabbed at his gut, because too late he had figured out her betrayed expression the last time he had seen her.

“I hear everything worked out for you though,” she commented evenly.

“Some things did.”

Clarke pretended not to hear him, but he saw her head tilt up in surprise.

“Are you happy?” He asked, turning suddenly, needing to know that he had only risked his future and not hers too with his single-minded decision.

The tension in his shoulders eased when she smiled, small and soft.

“Yeah, Bell. I’m happy.” Taking a deep breath, and with a promising glint in her eye, she continued, “But I could be happier.”

“I quit riding.” That got her attention. Her lips parted but he spoke again before he lost his nerve. “I quit, and not just because I won. I realized I--”

“I know,” she interrupted, stepping closer. “I heard. It’s a small town. And I watch the local news.”

Bellamy paused, surprised himself, but then chuckled under his breath. He hadn’t been all that subtle during his recent interviews about his reasons for giving up his sport, though he hadn’t ever counted on her seeing them. It hadn’t been a gimmick or a ploy on his part, just the truth.

Running with that, he reached for her hand, squeezing it tight as he said, “I love you, Clarke Griffin.”

She laughed and tugged him in, rising up to kiss him. _I love you too_ , her mouth said as she coaxed her way in. He caught her cheek, keeping her close, where he could taste her, savor her. Clarke arched her body into his, as warm as the sunlight gleaming through the windows all around them.

“About time,” she whispered against his lips when they were done.

Bellamy laughed softly. He may have been kissing Clarke for eight minutes or eight seconds, but he of all people knew how long you could stay in a moment. And he wanted a lifetime of moments with Clarke.

He was done living by the clock, by the tick of the secondhand. He was ready to live his life to the beat of Clarke’s heart, the cadence of her laugh, the rhythm of her breaths.

So Bellamy just tugged her closer, capturing her lips in another kiss, no longer counting the seconds of his life going by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, folks! Hope you enjoyed :)

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr (kay-emm-gee)!


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